The Single Ladies Dinner Party

Int. The private dining room of a fashionable and notably expensive New York restaurant, evening. Carrie Bradshaw-Big and a waitress are preparing for a dinner party. Seven places have been set at the long, candle-lit table.

Carrie: Everything has to be just perfect when the girls arrive. We haven’t gotten together in ages.

Waitress: I understand, Miss Bradshaw.

Carrie (with a forced lightness): Sweetie, it’s Mrs. now.

Waitress: Oh my god, Mrs. Big, of course. I just… always think of you as the consummate single girl.

Carrie (darkly): Make sure everything’s in order before the others get here.

Waitress exits hurriedly.

Cathy Guisteweite, a cartoon in her early 40’s, enters timidly.

Carrie: Cathy!

Cathy: ACK, Carrie! You scared me! But you look great, so thin. What size is that dress?

Carrie: Haha, oh Cathy, it is so good to see you. How’s Irving?

Cathy: Married life is… well, you know, wonderful, of course. Irving’s so funny, he’s always making fun of me for my “chick talk” or obsessing about work or sports. Ha ha! Ha. How are you and Big?

Carrie: So good. Well, after he left me at the altar in front of all of New York, we finally did it. We got hitched! Then, of course, we briefly divorced, reunited, separated for a time, renewed our vows…

Carrie’s voice fades as a cartoon thought bubble appears above Cathy’s head. It flashes “ACK! INSECURITY! CHOCOLATE! PANIC! ” over and over in different combinations.

Carrie (continued, minutes later): …we ran into each other last week at the Central Park Boat House, each drinking a Manhattan, and KNEW we were meant-to-be. We’re happier than ever.

Real Jen Aniston enters, trailed closely by Tabloid Jen Aniston. She looks and dresses the same as Real Jen, but is crying.

Carrie: Jen! I was so Theroux-ly happy to hear about your recent nuptials. Justin time!

Real Jen: Thank you! I’m incredibly happy. And wealthy. And I have great hair.

Tabloid Jen Aniston, having shocked herself with her own insight, stumbles backwards and grabs onto the long dinner table with one yoga-toned arm.

Real Jen: God, woman, I keep telling you we got over that smelly burnout a decade ago.

Tabloid Jen Aniston: What do you think Angelina’s doing right now?

Cathy puts her arm around Tabloid Jen Aniston; they both look scared.

Carrie: Oh phooey, Angelina, more like DevilMEANa, am I right? She’s not relatable. We’re the ones people are rooting for! And look how far we’ve come! Let’s take our seats, pop the champagne, and order a round of Cosmos. (In a stage whisper) I want to make a toast before the other girls get here.

The women sit; three seats remain open. The waitress enters, carrying a magnum of champagne. Placing Carrie’s Cosmo, she avoids eye contact, but looks starstruck by the other guests.

Tabloid Jen Aniston (bursting into fresh tears): I sleep in the dress I married my Brad in.

Miss Havisham: That’s a start but it’s not enough. Now, do you know any children?

Miss Havisham grips Tabloid Jen Aniston’s hands tightly. They stay locked into each other’s eyes for a long moment.

Cathy: Irving says I’m a pain during bathing suit season!

The Waitress re-enters, with a tray of appetizers.

Miss Havisham: Oh, a female servant. I was hoping for a young, impressionable male.

Miss Havisham picks up one of the candles and follows the girl around the table, inspecting her, getting dangerously close.

Carrie: Havy, the fire, be careful!

Miss Havisham: Oh, I can handle a little flame, Mrs. Big. I’ve carried one for years.

Real Jen: Really, honey, you should watch out, remember how in the book you burn–

Carrie (cutting her off): With the passion of a thousand suns! In the book… of life, your passion burns so brightly. (Through gritted teeth) Have some respect for the fictional, Aniston — not all of our lives are scripted by sympathetic publicists.

Carrie, Real Jen and Cathy notice that their companions are engulfed in flames and race to extinguish them. Cathy’s thought bubble catches on fire. Real Jen pours what’s left of the magnum on Tabloid Jen Aniston, while Carrie chokes on the smell of Miss Havisham’s rotten, burning gown.

The television flickers briefly. Oprah and Gayle appear, survey the damage, give one another a look that is more than knowing. The feed cuts out.